Full Circle
by SibilantSibyl18
Summary: Snape comes to the slow realization that, contrary to his former beliefs, there are some things that cannot be categorized as definitely evil or wholly good. Chapter 2 up! Please read and review.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: Snape is not mine, although I wish he were. Anything you recognize, including Snape, belongs to JK Rowling and not me. **

Full Circle

Prologue: _Shades of Grey_

Does redemption exist? Can one's sins ever be mitigated, their rough edges smoothed by the passage of the years?

As a child, I would have questioned the meaning of redemption. Serious, but not yet sullen, I would have stared blankly at the questioner. 

          As an adolescent, my answer would have been charged with the blindness of youth, the determination to relegate objects into definite categories, not dissimilar from the neat labeling of ingredients in the laboratory. Any lack of classification was a distinct failure on my part. There was no redemption. And indeed, I did not wish for any. Death, at least, was a certainty, something solid, something tangible that one could hold in the palm of one's hands and draw out to furtively glance at when in need of reassurance. 

          As an adult, with a vested interest in the answer, I cannot help but wish for a response, any response, anything from an indefinite "perhaps" to a forceful verdict of "guilty." I am no longer partial to the worlds of black and white that so interested me in my youth. I am no longer willing to fight for a negation of the either so that the other might reign completely. I have saluted the banners of both sides, have charged into battle single-mindedly, and have had my own blank canvas transformed into a dizzying combination of black and white brushstrokes. I have had enough.

          I have finally learned that either option is not the result of a single decision, but merely a slow culmination, a summation, a Riemann sum, if you will, of one's previous choices. I have found it true that one reaches a certain location by hesitantly traveling through shades of grey, finally attaining either the faintest tint of silver or the deepest ebony.

          What is redemption if not a blank canvas, erasure by a master hand? But whose?

          The sun was setting on the October night that I entered Hogwarts, hastening towards Dumbledore's office, blind and unaware of whom or what I passed in my frenzy. My reason, for the first time in years, had abandoned me, but what little sense I still possessed guided me to Dumbledore's office. It is quite possible that, at the time, I hoped that _his would be the master hand, offering redemption through an almost certain death, a deserved death, one paid for through relentless plotting, scheming, and cold-blooded murdering of innocent and guilty alike. _

          It is said that "cowards die many times before their deaths." If so, I am nothing if not a coward, for I admit now to you that I would have been grateful for any escape from the moral suffering I underwent then, be it the kiss of a blade or that of a Dementor. 

          But now it is different. I can revel in my potions, my students' aptitude (or lack thereof), and the enveloping darkness of a dungeon. 

          But always there, behind my thoughts, behind the slightest enjoyment I take in any activity, are two shadows. The first is one I am already familiar with, as are you. It is the dark, ominous form of a judge, weighing my actions with an unwavering hand and hawk like eye. The second is yours, and though I have not seen you for some time—how could I, you ask, and rightly so—you remain unchanged. Ten years have not taken their toll on you. While my face has creased, yours remains smooth and childish, though you were never a child, or, at least, I cannot imagine you as one. You were always old, even when you were young. You were wise for your age, more so than I, for you learned to see the world in shades of grey before I had even the faintest inkling…

To be continued. 

A/N: Thanks to Iris, who kindly served as my beta for this chapter, even though she was stressed out.

          This was a prologue to what will hopefully center around the ever-fascinating Severus Snape (I'll bet none of you guessed that :-P).  I want to continue this if I have time and do not lose interest. Please review and let me know if it's worth it.


	2. Her Story

**Disclaimer: Actually, almost everything in this chapter belongs to me, with the exception of Hogwarts and Snape, who belong to JKR. **

Full Circle

Chapter One:  _Her Story_

It was true despite her mother's calm demeanor, true regardless of her calm, measured actions, and true in spite of her ever-constant façade of relaxation. Regardless of what the doctors said, the girl believed her mother to have been touched by madness. 

It was beyond belief, but it was true.

She never breathed a word of it to her father. In love with his undeniably beautiful wife, he humored her stubborn whims with paternal solicitude. To preserve the look of childish happiness in his wife's soft dark eyes, her father was more than ready to ignore her abnormally obsessive attachments and the manic gleam that glistened within her beautiful eyes.

Besides, there was something—endearing—about her dependence upon him, he thought. Her mother possessed some quality of lovable helplessness—not a burdensome quality, for he couldn't have tolerated that, soft dark eyes and light curls withstanding—but an almost apologetic helplessness, as if it were other than self-enforced and entirely beyond her control. 

A dumpy blonde man with a ready smile, her father was apt to overlook many of his wife's eccentricities, and never fully realized that perhaps his wife's helplessness _was entirely beyond her control. This would have doubtlessly troubled him, for, by extension, it then became a situation over which __he had no control. And Lawrence Gracelan was all about control._

Control- in a tree, in a garden long ago, two humanoid creatures began the struggle for control. Control over their actions, control to choose or not to choose, to decide one's actions or relegate the decision to a higher authority, to see the black, the white, or the grey. 

But, as Lawrence Gracelan realized, not all three. Never all three. 

And so, even so, the child's father sought to impose his rule upon the household. There were no distinctions between people of varied appearance or character—each was assimilated into the household, welcomed into the murky blackness, received as a vital (though easily replaced) member of the household's body. And at its head sat Lawrence Gracelan. 

His wife's whims were taken into account, for, after all, he had control over their fulfillment, and gratifying them pleased him, as they were proof of his ability to give and his ability to take. Blessed be the name of the Lord.

He was a magician to his daughter, for he and he alone could maintain this illusion of strict control. She knew it was an illusion, but it fascinated her nonetheless. She, too, was attracted to this forbidden fruit, this intangible pleasure, this possession and complete dominance. 

It was indeed an attraction—but no more, and would never be more than a secret fascination—because of her mother. The girl knew that her mother had an inner fire, only expressed in the manic gleam that occasionally overpowered her normally soft eyes. Only Orliana knew her mother was being consumed slowly by a careful and creeping fire, and only Orliana realized that, no matter how solid her father's superficial control, her mother's madness could not be blustered or beaten into submission and could not be tamed.

Because of this, Orliana pitied her father, in the midst of her simultaneous attraction and fear. Because of this, Orliana realized that her father's control had only the merest illusions of power and lacked true authority. Because of this, Orliana vowed that she would not become another mindless addict to a fleeting pleasure—she would refuse a world of black or white, and seek refuge in a world with shades of grey.

It was a lesson that I would not learn until after her death, her death that happened, as in a story, "once upon a time."

Once upon a time. This was the way that Orliana began all stories, her own included. She refused to give an exact date or even a setting. _It's not essential to the story, Severus_, she would say, narrowing her eyes in annoyance at my interruption. _Once upon a time, there lived a beautiful dark-eyed woman, considered so despite her freckles and ungainly walk. She was thought by many to be one of the most fortunate women in the vicinity at the time—not only was she in the possession of several well-valued properties, but she was also blessed with a husband who had the means, but more importantly, the will to control them and keep them under strict scrutiny. And, they would often hastily add, as if close to forgetting, she had a small daughter. A small, dark-haired daughter who inherited her mother's fine eyes. _

It was customary for Orliana to stop here, expecting me to grasp the full significance of her last words. 

_The girl came to the realization of the subtle differences between her mother and her father, and between her mother and the rest of the wizarding community. Whereas most of the practicing wizards in the area had control over their magic, as is the wont of most wizards, her mother's magic was uncontrolled, erratic in its occurrence, and at a constant variance in force. While her father overlooked many of his wife's oddities, this was one thing even he__ could not fail to notice. To prevent his wife from setting the house afire and turning his child into a crow, he placed limits on her use of magic, and tried to insure that she was never given the opportunity to use it. _

_How unfortunate. _

_As time passed, she began to resent him for the control he placed on her magic, and resolved to save her daughter from this. Although neither side of the family had a history of attending Hogwarts, the wife suggested that their small daughter be enrolled there, following her birthday._

_Though her husband would have preferred a more rigorous institution, he succumbed to this whim of his wife's, and, following her birthday, Orliana Gracelan was enrolled in Hogwarts._

_This was the significance her birthday held for her father._

_Orliana__ and her mother knew otherwise. _

_It was that night that both learned that besides inheriting her mother's dark eyes and erratic magical abilities (which would hopefully, after Hogwarts' instruction, be controlled), the child had, to a lesser degree, also inherited her mother's madness._

_The child, however, would succeed where her mother had failed._

_And so, even so, Orliana Gracelan arrived at Howarts. _

To be continued.

**A/N: I was mortally afraid to post this chapter, but I must try to vanquish both my paranoia and my occasional fear of writing. Thanks to all who reviewed the Prologue: ****Exwhyzed (I hope you check back), **RustyMuffins** (even though I hate her), **Werecat99** (meet the mysterious person ;)), ****Stefynae (… 2 days…), and ****Sage and Snape (I'm going to read your chapter now, I promise! I just wanted to finish this first).  **

Now off to write some fun, oddly-paired ficlets. :-D


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